


Sticky Notes

by riseuplikeangels



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseuplikeangels/pseuds/riseuplikeangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla isn't very good at direct communications. But choicely placed blank sticky notes are doing the job just as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Notes

The first sticky note is on Laura’s pillow, right next to her head.

She almost doesn’t see it when she wakes up, seeing as it’s pretty much the same shade of yellow, and besides, her eyes are bleary with sleep anyway. But when she moves her hand to turn off the alarm on her phone, it brushes something papery and so she comes up with it.

“Weird,” she mutters, as she gets out of bed—Carmilla’s still asleep, of course, so she tries not to be too loud as she pads to the bathroom on bare feet, dropping the sticky note in the trash. She doesn’t use them, she prefers to annotate, so she can’t imagine how one might have gotten in her bed…but she forgets about it almost as soon as it’s out of her line of sight.

At least until she turns on the bathroom light, and there’s another little yellow sticky note on her bottle of body spray, the warm vanilla sugar scent that she adores. “Okaaaaay, definitely weird,” she says aloud, and peels it off, dropping it into the bathroom trashcan on top of a Dixie cup with bloodstains at the bottom, lipstick stains around the rim. But again, she forgets about it, showers, puts on her makeup, sprays the perfume on the insides of her wrists and rubs drops under her earlobes, at the creases of her elbows. Does a little bit of work on an essay, eats some oatmeal out of one of Carmilla’s mugs and uses her own trusty TARDIS mug to make hot cocoa.

Except for when she goes to pour the water from her kettle into the mug, she finds yet another small sticky note stuck on the bottom, only barely rescued from being decimated by boiling water by Laura’s reflexive re-aiming. She finds another one stuck over the Bite Me button that she’d pinned on her bag—she’d found it at a flea market and thought it was terribly amusing, given her roommate situation. And another on the hanger that holds her favorite flannel, when she goes to throw it on over her tank top to head to a noon class.

When she comes back, it’s to the sight of Carmilla very deliberately laying a yellow sticky note over a sheet of paper filled with Laura’s neat cursive, just notes for a class, nothing particularly important. “What are you doing?” asks Laura, not actually surprised that Carmilla’s leaving little bits of paper everywhere (for that’s exactly the kind of thing she does), but wondering at the reasoning behind the intentionality of it all.

Carmilla just shrugs, gives her one of those small smiles that she never really has an idea how to interpret, and then goes back to lay on her bed, flicking through her smartphone with the same black-painted fingernails she had used to smooth down the sticky note.

Laura is utterly confused.

And the sticky notes aren’t just limited to items. She wakes up after a nap at the time when Carmilla’s getting most active, half-naked in front of her wardrobe trying to decide which black top to wear over her signature leather pants, and there’s a sticky note on her hand. Upon brushing it off and then lifting the hand to comb her hair out of her face, she finds that there’s one in her hair, as well. “Carmilla, what the actual hell?” she asks, as she gets out of bed.

“What do you think the merits are of going to the Kitchen Witch Alliance social just to steal their wine?” she asks, like she didn’t hear Laura’s question.

“I don’t know about wine, but I know that they always have really good food at those things,” Laura shrugs, as she finds a sticky note right over the birthmark on the back of her shoulder that she hadn’t previously noticed, and crumples all three of them in her hand.

So they go, and there are indeed tables and tables of food that Laura devours and Carmilla picks at, and there’s dancing. Carmilla doesn’t really know how to dance in a way that doesn’t look like it’s out of the Victorian era, but Laura drags her out on the floor anyway, bopping to the music in her own endearing way, losing herself in the electronic beat. She only focuses back in on the whole situation when she suddenly can only see half as well, because Carmilla has placed a small yellow sticky note directly over her right eye. And before she has time to say anything, its twin is on her left.

“Jeez, do you just carry that whole pack around?!” Laura gripes, and bats them off her face so that she can see again, only for Carmilla to stick one to her nose. “Okay, okay. Just…moratorium on the Post-Its, okay? I’m going to get a papercut or something with this crowd.”

Carmilla shrugs, and puts the pack back in her tight pocket, smoothly turning around and heading for the drinks table. She carries off no less than two bottles of wine and one of champagne and nobody says anything about it because everyone is scared of her. Except for Laura, who of course knows she’s probably the biggest softie around when she thinks that no one is watching.

When they go back to the room, Carmilla pours her a glass of champagne, raising her glass in a mock toast. “To you,” she says, inclining her head in the way she does, almost flirtatiously. Laura still doesn’t know how to handle it when she does that.

“And to you,” she starts to say, but before she can, there’s a sticky note over her mouth, smack on her upper lip, smoothed there by a soft, long-fingered hand. Carmilla looks at her pointedly, and then turns away, downing her glass of crisp alcohol in one go and then sauntering into the bathroom for one of her forty-minute-long showers. Laura, confused, goes to bed before she’s out.

The next morning, which is a Saturday, Laura wakes up to find that for once Carmilla is not in the room, though there are sticky notes covering the entirety of Laura’s arm, which had been flung on top of the covers, from shoulder all the way down to her wrist. It’s nearly noon, and Laura intends to get some work done, but is interrupted by the arrival of Perry, who knocks on the door and enters when Laura tells her to come in. She’s accompanied by LaFontaine.

“I figured you might need some help with cleaning,” she says before there’s really any proper greeting involved. “And I’m at a stumbling block on my thesis, and frankly there’s just not enough to do in my room. So I figured I’d come over and help you.”

“And I’m just bored and don’t feel like hanging out in my own room,” supplies LaFontaine, taking a seat on Laura’s bed after toeing off their shoes, sitting cross-legged.

“Fine with me,” says Laura, laughing a little. “There’s blood, soda, and a weird amount of wine in the fridge, if you’re interested. And Perry, if you want to clean, by all means do it. Sorry if you find sticky notes everywhere, Carmilla’s leading me on a scavenger hunt I don’t know the rules to and she isn’t bothering to enlighten me about. So, business as usual around here.”

“Sounds like it,” Perry says, but before the last syllable has even passed her lips, she’s going through the clothes on the floor, folding all of it that could be worn again and tossing what can’t into the hamper over by the foot of Laura’s bed. Laura, glad for the company even if it’s only for the sounds of the floor don puttering around the room tidying up and LaFontaine humming some tune or another.

“What do you mean by scavenger hunt?” LaFontaine asks, ever-interested in something out of the ordinary.

“I have no idea,” Laura responds, shrugging. “I keep finding them places. On my perfume, in my hair, on my clothes. She put one straight over my mouth after we went dancing at the Kitsch Witch social and naturally didn’t bother to explain herself.”

LaFontaine thinks for a few minutes and only comes up with “Weird,” which Laura concurs with before going back to her homework.

After a few long minutes, where Laura is doing a long reading, Perry calls her attention with a little clearing of her throat. “Sorry to bother you,” she says, holding up a book by Camus, with yellow sticky notes sticking haphazardly out of it at every angle, marking different pages. “Just wondering if I should put this on your shelf or Carmilla’s?”

“Oh, definitely Carmilla’s,” LaFontaine supplies. “Even if she wasn’t technically a philosophy major, Camus is so much more Carmilla than Laura, y’know?”

Laura laughs, starting to agree, but then she takes another look at the book in Perry’s hand and stops dead. “Perry,” she says. “Can I see that for a minute?”

The book is handed over, and Laura flicks through the pages, trying to see a pattern in the way she’s marked up the book with sticky notes. She knows that this is one of Carmilla’s favorite works, she quotes it often enough and always verbatim, but she’s never actually seen her copy of the book. “Why does she put these on the pages?” she asks.

Instead of Perry’s voice or LaFontaine’s answering her, it’s Carmilla’s coming from the doorway. Laura whips her head around in time to see the vampire leaning up against it, one hand pulling one of her thigh-highs a little further up the expanse of smooth skin. “I should think that would be obvious,” she says, and then saunters in, putting her bag on her bed and idling over by Laura’s chair, her hand resting on the back of it, one finger stroking absently over her back.

“Well, forgive the foolish mortal, but it’s not so obvious,” Laura says, looking up at Carmilla.

“I put them on the bits I like,” she says, and Laura hears LaFontaine, who has been sipping from a coffee mug of wine (so very college), choke on it. Laura herself feels her mouth going dry as she puts two and two together.

“Oh,” she murmurs, feeling a blush crop on her cheeks.

“Um, LaFontaine, maybe we should…” Perry starts, only one rubber glove on, only half the window wiped clean of smears.

“Yeah, yeah,” they say in response, both of them hurrying out the door and closing it behind them, leaving Carmilla looking at Laura with her head slightly tilted and Laura still putting all of the pieces together in her head, the perfume, the flannel, her eyes, her mouth…

“You know, this is probably the most roundabout way anyone could ever think up to tell me that they like me,” Laura points out, both flustered by all of the sudden implications and laughing a little at Carmilla’s circumventing of the issue.

The vampire shrugs, slow, languid, her eyes still fixed on Laura’s. “Well, if I didn’t keep you on your toes, you might get bored of me.”

“Like that would ever happen,” Laura bursts out, almost without thinking about it, and one of Carmilla’s finely plucked eyebrows raises.

“Oh?” she responds. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Finally, Laura stands up to her full height, whereupon she still has to look up at Carmilla, with the blush still on her cheeks, her eyes rolling a little even as a smile turns up on the corners of her mouth. “So, um…”

But before she can finish stammering out something definitely embarrassing with little to no forethought, Carmilla’s taking the sides of her face in her cool hands and kissing her, her soft mouth suddenly on Laura’s, whereupon the girl’s brainpower essentially shorts out and it’s all she can do to just respond, her heart rate picking up ostensibly, warmth unfolding in her stomach as she responds, her arms around Carmilla’s neck for the long moments their lips are connected.

“Where’s the sticky note for that?” Laura jokes, out of breath when finally they pull back, looking into each other’s eyes—there’s something new in Carmilla’s, something gentle and satisfied, though of course she’s smirking. Because as soon as Laura says it, she slowly pulls a small pack of yellow sticky notes from her pocket again, and peels one off, pressing it carefully to her still-fluttering heart.

“There we go,” she murmurs. “There we go.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on my tumblr, grantarot. Drop me a comment here or there, and thanks for reading!


End file.
